Sitting on a stack of sacks in the corner were three n. They wore greasy gray robes and were currently engaged in a heated ga of dice. They looked less like chefs and more like bandits who had retired to a life of lethargy.
"Who’s there?" the largest one, a man with a belly that spilled over his sash, grunted without looking up. "Delivery? Just dump the grain in the corner. Not that we need it. The disciples only want those chalky pills."
"I’m the new disciple assigned to duty," Ji’an announced, her voice echoing in the cavernous, empty space.
The three n stopped. They looked up.
They saw a slender, handso youth in fresh Outer Sect robes, standing in the doorway with the posture of a general inspecting troops.
"A disciple?" The fat man, clearly the self- appointed Head Steward, laughed. He stood up, wiping grease on his pants. "A pretty boy like you? What did you do? Offend an Elder? Steal a jade pendant?"
"I have a Chaotic Spirit Root," Ji’an said cheerfully, stepping inside. Her boot crunched on sothing. She looked down. A dead cockroach.
"Ah," the Steward sneered. "Trash root. Then it makes sense. Well, find a corner and sleep. As long as you don’t bother us, we won’t bother you. There’s nothing to cook anyway. We just boil water for tea once a day."
Ji’an ignored him. She walked to the nearest workstation. She ran a finger along the counter. It ca away black.
She looked at the woks. Rusted. She looked at the pantry. Half-open, with a rat scurrying away.
[System Alert: New Location Discovered – ’The Fallen Kitchen’.]
[Environnt Rating: F- (Biohazard).]
[Mission Triggered: ’Hell’s Kitchen’.]
[Objective: Clean this pigsty before sunset. Reward: Unlocked ’System Spice Rack’ (Level 1) and 50 Cooking Proficiency.]
Ji’an’s eyes lit up. Spice Rack? She had been running low on the Szechuan peppercorns she brought from ho.
She turned to the three n.
"Gentlen," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "You have two choices. You can help , or you can get out."
"Help you?" The Steward scoffed. "Help you do what? Cook air?"
"No," Ji’an grinned, summoning her Black Iron Spatula. "Exorcise the filth."
What followed was not cleaning. It was a martial arts demonstration.
The three staff mbers sat in the corner, mouths agape, watching as the "Trash Disciple" turned into a blur of motion.
Ji’an didn’t just scrub; she channeled her cultivation.
"Water-Style: High-Pressure Hose!" She kicked a bucket of water into the air. With a wave of her spatula, she channeled her Qi, turning the splash into a concentrated jet stream that blasted the gri off the walls.
"Wind-Style: Dust Devil!" She spun in the center of the room, creating a small tornado that sucked up the cobwebs, dead flies, and dry leaves from the rafters, depositing them neatly into a trash bin.
"Fire-Style: Sterilization!" She slamd her palm onto the cold stone stoves. Whoosh. Flas roared to life, not just heating the woks but burning away the layers of rancid grease and rust, leaving the iron gleaming and blue-black.
The cockroaches didn’t stand a chance. Ji’an moved like an assassin, flicking dried beans with deadly accuracy.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Every bean took down a pest.
"He... he’s a maniac," one of the staff whispered, clutching his dice.
"Is he cleaning... or fighting a war?" the Steward murmured, watching Ji’an perform a wall-run to wipe a high window.
By the ti the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, the kitchen was unrecognizable.
The stone floors shone like mirrors. The woks were seasoned and ready. The pantry was organized (the rat had been politely escorted out via a window). The air slled of lemon verbena and fresh water.
Ji’an stood in the center of the sparkling room, leaning on her mop like a conqueror. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.
[System Notification: Mission Complete!]
[Reward: System Spice Rack Unlocked. (Contains: Star Anise, Cinnamon, Cumin, Szechuan Pepper, and Infinite Salt).]
"Perfect," Ji’an sighed, satisfied.
The Trap of Aroma
The three staff mbers were still huddled in the corner, looking terrified.
"Are... are you done?" the Steward asked hesitantly.
"Done cleaning? Yes," Ji’an said, her stomach growling loudly. "Now, I work on the most important part. Winning the hearts and minds."
She walked over to the newly organized pantry. It was ager—just sacks of low-grade spiritual rice, so eggs from spirit-chickens, and a few baskets of wilting scallions.
"Pathetic ingredients," Ji’an critiqued. "But a true chef doesn’t bla the tools."
She lit the fire under the main wok.
The staff watched, confused. "What is he doing? No one eats at this hour. The disciples are all ditating."
"I’m eating," Ji’an said.
She tossed a block of lard (rendered from the Steel-Bristle Boar) into the wok. It hissed, lting into a clear, fragrant pool.
She chopped the scallions. Tak-tak-tak-tak. The sound was rhythmic, hypnotic.
She cracked six spirit-eggs into a bowl, beating them with a chopstick until they were a uniform, sunny yellow.
"Rice," she whispered, tossing the leftover cold rice into the hot oil.
Sizzle.
The sound was the opening note of a symphony.
The mont the rice hit the wok, the sll began to spread. The rich, nutty aroma of frying rice, coating itself in animal fat.
Then ca the eggs, creating a savory cloud. Finally, the soy sauce and the spices from her new System Rack.
The sll drifted to the corner where the staff sat.
The Steward sniffed the sll of food. His stomach, which had been content with a tasteless bun earlier, suddenly roared.
"What... what is that sll?" the second staff mber asked, drooling.
"It slls like... childhood," the third one whispered, eyes glazing over.
Ji’an tossed the wok. The rice flew into the air, a golden wave, catching the firelight, before landing perfectly back in the iron.
Every grain was separated, coated in egg and gold. Ji’an’s own specialty: the Golden Egg Fried Rice!
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